ASBO: A Novel of Extreme Terror (22 page)

He kicked her hard, striking her ribs in the same exact spot he had punched her.  In the glow of the house’s outside lights, Andrew watched the girl’s cheeks turn bright red as she struggled to get a single breath into her failing lungs.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?  Now imagine if I put you through this for hours on end, or made you watch while I tortured your family.”  He kicked her again, this time in her rump, as she tried to crawl away through the mud.  He felt his foot impact with the pointed tip of her tailbone and she squealed in agony.

“I’m sorry,” she yelled at him, managing to find her breath.  “Just…leave me alone…please.”

Andrew looked down at the pathetic, mud-covered girl and felt no remorse.  She was as twisted and as evil as Frankie.  In fact, she had delighted in his family’s misery more than anyone else. “Seriously?” he asked her.  “You’re going to beg me?  Did I not beg you?  Did you listen when
I
pleaded?”

Michelle shook her head, tears smudging makeup in the same way Penelope’s had the evening before.  Andrew struck out again, kicking her face as hard as he could and enjoying the feeling of teeth cracking.

Michelle flopped onto her belly like a fish, spitting out broken shards of ruined teeth.  The blood in her mouth had transformed her screams into petrified whimpers.

It isn’t enough, though.  She deserves even worse.

As much as hatred filled Andrew’s heart and encased his grieving soul, he didn’t possess the ability to beat a young girl to death – regardless of how much she might deserve it.  There were other things he could do, though.  Time was running out and he had no leads on where to find Frankie, but perhaps Michelle could help him with that.  There would be ways to make her talk.

Andrew knocked on Damien’s door and waited for it to open again.  When it did, he nodded to the young man inside and said, “I need to borrow something.” 

***

It only took minutes to carry Michelle into a nearby nature reserve.  Luckily, Damien’s street was upmarket and lined with small outcroppings of woodland.  It had been frightening how nobody had noticed Andrew abduct the girl – made him worry about the world his daughter was living in – but it wasn’t something he was going to complain about now.

Andrew knelt beside the girl as she lay propped up against a gnarled oak tree.  She was an unconscious mess.  While she’d been sleeping, Andrew had used the scissors he had borrowed from Damien to completely remove her hair, humiliating her in the same way she and her friends had done to Pen.  It still wasn’t sufficient punishment for what she’d done, but Andrew hoped it was enough to teach her a lesson; something she couldn’t just
laugh off.

He slapped at her cheeks to wake her, harder than he needed to because the act itself felt so satisfying.  After half a dozen blows, it worked.  Her eyelids fluttered and her eyeballs rolled forwards from the back of her head.  She looked content, like coming out of a pleasant dream, but then her consciousness returned to reality and she saw Andrew leaning over her.  She panicked.

“Help me!  Please, somebody!”

Andrew slapped her face again, harder than he had done to wake her.  Instantly she stopped screaming.  “Shut up, girl!  I won’t hurt you if you tell me what I want.”

Michelle’s eyes were round and white like a frightened animal.  Her words came out hurried and short of breath.  “Tell you…what?”

Andrew leant closer to her, their noses almost touching.  “Where’s Frankie?”

“I…I don’t know.”

Andrew pulled the knife from his belt and held it to her face, pressing it into the fatty flesh beneath her left eye.  “Don’t make me ask you again, you little harlot.”

“Please…please…I really don’t know.  Damien said Frankie left his place a few hours ago, before I even got there.  Frankie doesn’t even know I was with Damien.”

Andrew huffed.  “You really are a piece of work, aren’t you?”

“Please don’t tell him.”

Andrew couldn’t believe it.  The girl’s level of self-involvement was astounding.  “Do you think I give a damn about your love life?  You can screw half of Worcestershire for all I care.  I just want Frankie.  Besides I don’t think he’d like you now that you’ve cut your hair.”

Michelle instantly slapped both hands to her head and squealed when she felt nothing but scalp and random thickets of hair.  But before she had time to lose herself to hysteria, Andrew slapped her again.  He didn’t have time for her self-pity.

“Tell me where Frankie is, or you’ll lose more than just your hair.”

“I-I don’t know where he is!”  Michelle was pleading now and, regrettably, Andrew was inclined to believe her.  He was confident that he’d rattled her enough that she wouldn’t dare lie to him; she wasn’t brave enough to.  She had no idea where Frankie was. 

Andrew removed the knife from beneath her eye, dragging it downwards so that it bit slightly at her flesh.  He ignored her flinches of pain and asked his next questions.  “Okay.  Just tell me where you think he would go.  Home, maybe?”

Michelle laughed.  “That’s the last place you’ll find him.  He’s never there if he can help it.  I know where you can find Dom, though.”

Andrew took a breath in and held it.  He hadn’t thought as much about the rest of Frankie’s crew, but they were due just as much punishment as he was.  Andrew had already dealt with Jordan, so why not pay his brother a visit too?  At the very least there was a good chance that Dom could lead him closer to Frankie.

“Okay,” said Andrew.  “Tell me where to find Dom.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Davie stood at his front door not wanting to go in.  The thought of facing his mother after the previous night’s events was more than he could handle.  There would be lectures, about staying out at all hours, just waiting for him.  It was the very least of what he deserved, but his soul felt so brittle right now that the slightest knock could shatter him like a pane of glass.  He needed sleep and nothing else.

Davie turned the handle.  The door was not locked because his mother never left the house.  As long as she had beer – and sons to fetch it for her – then there was no reason to ever face the outside world.  He stepped inside and the smell of that very same beer filled his nostrils.

His mother heard the door open and shouted out from the living room.  “Davie, is that you?  Get in here, now!”

Davie sighed and passed from the hallway into the next room.  His mother was sprawled on the couch in her nightshirt and slippers, trying to pull herself up to a sitting position but failing pathetically.  Davie moved over to help her up.

She declined his hand and continued to struggle.  Eventually she made it upright and immediately began to glower at him.  “Where have you been?”

“I was out with Frankie.”

His mother spat.  The drool landed on her nightshirt.  “Frankie!  I told you to stay away from that boy.”

“I know,” Davie admitted.  “I will from now on, mum, I promise.”

His mother stared at him some more, trying to focus her eyes as she swayed to and fro.  She seemed totally unaware that a bandage adorned Davie’s head.  “Lies!” she shouted in his face.  “Don’t you lie to me, boy.”

“I’m not.  I saw what he’s really like last night.  I want no more to do with him.”

“Why?  What happened?  What did you boys do?  I best not have the police around here.  I have enough to cope with.”

“Nothing happened, mum.  I just found out that he wasn’t a very nice person.”

His mother took a swig of beer and laughed.  “Could have told you that long time ago.  He’s been no good since the day I birthed him.”

Davie was weary and his usual tolerance of his mother’s vitriol seemed somehow absent.  “Maybe he wouldn’t have turned out so bad if you’d been a better mother.”  The words escaped Davie’s mouth before he even realised he wanted to say them.  Now that he had, though, he felt a cloying pressure release itself from his bones.

Predictably, his drunken mother went nuclear.  She threw her empty beer can at Davie, hitting his face above the eyebrows and spiking the pain in his head.  “How dare you!  You…you little swine.  I give you a home and feed you and this is how you repay me?  Twenty years of my life down the pan for you boys.  I’ve a right mind to kick you both out.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Davie said calmly.

“Oh, wouldn’t I?  We’ll see about that, you ungrateful brat.”

“You won’t throw us out,” Davie said, “because you’d lose all your benefits and wouldn’t be able to drink yourself stupid every day.  As for putting a roof over your head, the government only gave it to you because of me.  You’d be in a skanky flat somewhere if I were to ever leave, so I don’t want to hear any more of your selfish complaining, you alcoholic, hate-filled old witch.  The only person to blame for your terrible life is you, so deal with it.”  Davie reached down to the floor and picked up the empty beer can that she had thrown at him.  He stood up and tossed it back onto her lap.  “And you can get your own beer from now on.  Go outside and let the whole street see what a pathetic waster you are.”

Davie’s mother unleashed a tirade of abuse at him, but he was already out the door and halfway up the stairs before she managed to complete her first slurred sentence.  It was just background noise now.  The things he had said to her should’ve left him feeling elated, yet it hadn’t.  There was too much on Davie’s mind to enjoy the moment and the confrontation with his mother was not enough to shift the growing numbness that was seeping through his mind.  After what he and his brother put Andrew and his family through, Davie felt unworthy of any emotion other than shame and regret.  He wished he could put things right, but there would never be a way.

Nothing will ever make up for what we did.

Davie entered the cramped space of his bedroom and hopped up onto his unmade bed.  Thoughts turned to his brother and then, unexpectedly, to sympathy.  What Davie had said to his mother was indisputably true: what chance did Frankie have growing up with her as a moral guardian?  Ending up in a young offender’s home had probably been inevitable from the moment Frankie was born.

And that’s exactly where I’ll be heading too.

Davie thought about what Damien had said about his brother’s time in prison and felt violently sick.  Frankie was strong, respected, and feared.  The thought of him being….being helplessly abused just did not mesh with the image that Davie had of him.  It made his brain hurt just trying to consider the notion.

Even if it is true, what difference does it make?  Frankie is broken and I don’t think there’s any way to fix him.  Understanding a monster doesn’t change the fact that it’s still a monster.

Davie had looked into his brother’s eyes earlier and saw that there was something missing – a key piece of the puzzle that most people had.  Compassion.

Does that mean he’s evil?

No,
Davie told himself
, he’s my brother and he doesn’t deserve the existence he was given.  His whole life he’s looked out for me. He’s not evil.  He’s just hurting.

Hurting bad.

And I just turned my back on him.  Just like his own mother did before I was even out of nappies.  What chance do I have either.  I’m not going to end up any better.  Eventually I’ll end up banged up, just like Frankie.

Davie felt a tear fall from his cheek.

He needs me.

Another tear and Davie was done feeling sorry.  He wiped it away and nodded his head,

It’s time for me to look out for him now.  Whatever happens, I’m the only family Frankie’s got.  He needs me to look out for him the way he’s always looked out for me.  I need to stop him before he gets himself into any deeper trouble.  I owe him that much.

Davie rolled off of his bed and took a deep breath.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out the revolver Frankie had given to him and examined it.

“Time to help my brother,” he said out loud.  “Whatever it takes.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The Trumpet bar and lounge was located in a rough housing estate opposite a rundown supermarket and a failing video store.  Andrew had never been here before but had heard enough stories to suggest that drinking here was only for a certain kind of individual.

Andrew took the first of the crumbling stone steps leading up to the pub’s entrance and prepared himself to go inside.  The lights were on inside and a flickering glow gave away the presence of a natural fire.  The thought of all that warmth welcomed Andrew as the evening’s icy rain continued to drench him.  He took the remaining steps and approached the entrance to the pub.  He stood at the windowless wooden door for a few moments, questioning himself about whether he really wanted to do this and whether he was really willing to walk inside and commit cold-blooded murder?

Andrew took a deep breath and told himself,
yes.
  He pulled open the door and stepped inside.

The pub was almost empty and it took several seconds for Andrew to even spot a single soul.  There was a slender brunette restocking crisps behind the bar and a dishevelled old man sitting opposite with a half-empty pint of bitter in front of him.  Andrew moved up beside the old man and took an adjacent stool.

“A new face,” said the barmaid, noticing him.  “Don’t get many of those around here.  I’m Steph, and this wrinkly fart we call Old Graham.”

“You cheeky mare,” the old man replied but was laughing.

“Pleased to meet you,” said Andrew.  He slid a ten-pound note across the counter.  “Top the fella up and one for yourself.  Mine’s a lager.”

Steph smiled.  “Very generous of you.”

“Yes,” said Old Graham.  “You’re my kind of man.”

“Then perhaps you could help me with something.” said Andrew.

The old man received his pint from the barmaid and took a sip of it.  Then, as the barmaid went off to pour the next one, he turned to Andrew.  “Okay.  What do you need?”

“Kid called Dom.”

The old man raised his greying eyebrows in a look of understanding.  “Black guy.  A twin, yes?”